


Hands and Feet

by InfiniteCrisis



Series: Hands and Feet verse [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Belts, Child Abuse, Everything is terrible, Gen, Kink Meme, Loki is not adopted, Odin is an asshole, Triggers, frigga is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5815117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteCrisis/pseuds/InfiniteCrisis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To punish Thor, instead of beating him as he usually does, Odin makes Thor beat his beloved brother Loki instead.  It's super effective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands and Feet

**Author's Note:**

> This is me posting things I wrote a long time ago. I actually posted this ages ago on norsekink, long before I even /had/ an AO3 account. Here's a link to the original prompt: http://norsekink.livejournal.com/12132.html?thread=30711908#t30711908
> 
> This fic is DISTURBING. BE WARNED. There are heavy trigger warnings for abuse. I'm actually on the fence as to whether this should be labeled explicit or mature, so if you have an opinion on that, please let me know in comments.

“Get my belt and bring it here.”

Thor sighed. Odin kept the belt he liked to use hanging on a hook in the hall, a constant reminder of the price for bad behavior. Loki stood back, as near to the wall as he could without looking like he was skulking or hiding, arms crossed over himself protectively. Thor tried to give him an encouraging look, but Loki cast his eyes downward. Honestly, Loki’s face when this happened was probably the part he hated most.

“If you could just pretend to be sorry,” Loki implored, voice pitched low, but with a familiar urgency. 

“I’d rather take the beating than apologize to that mean old goat,” Thor replied, keeping his tone gruff. 

Loki glared hurtfully, looking as though he were biting his tongue. It was a familiar look, though not usually directed at him. 

“Besides, do you really think it would help?” Thor went on.

“It might,” Loki said bitingly after a moment. “You’ve never tried it.”

But Thor hadn’t taken Loki’s advice and here they were, again. He’d take his licks, it would hurt like hell, and Loki would be there after, chiding him with sharp words but nonetheless doing what he could to help the pain. 

He held out the belt to his father firmly, quiet, but with his chin up. 

Odin stood impassively, gaze cold. Then, his one good eye slid over, past Thor’s shoulder. 

“Loki. Go bend over the sofa.” 

Thor dropped his arm, head twisting sharply. Loki’s eyes were up now, wide as his lips trembled with shock. Thor wondered if Loki saw a similar panic in his own expression. 

“Father,” he said, turning back. “Loki had nothing to do with this.”

“I know that,” Odin snapped sharply, his piercing stare suddenly fixed back on Thor. “But tanning your hide seems to do no good at all. Perhaps this will.” 

Thor looked back to his brother, alarm pounding in his chest. Loki stood perfectly still, his whole body stiff and straight. He blinked once, and Thor knew that look. He was trying not to cry. 

“Father please,” Thor pleaded. “You needn’t do this.”

“I will do nothing,” said Odin shortly. “Loki,” he addressed his younger son without looking at him. “Need I tell you twice?”

Loki bit his lip, and made a tiny shake of his head, swallowing as he wiped his nose once with the back of his hand. Then, eyes fixed on the floor, he moved. Thor watched him. 

Loki made his way slowly, but not hesitantly, as though he were some automaton whose gears were slowed. He bent over the arm of the couch stiffly, placing his elbows into the cushions and spreading his legs, dark head bowed into his arms. 

Loki had never had to do this. He’d taken his spankings as a child, sure, but by the time they’d grown older, Loki had grown quiet, and still. He had also grown clever, and subtle, and had learned to see storms before they rose. He learned when to stay silent and when to speak, and what words to say and when. He had learned to be obedient and deferent and contrite, all lessons Thor had never quite managed. So Loki had never felt the sting of a leather belt on his skin.

Thor could see him breathing.

“Father, please” he began again, quieter.

“Enough.” Odin cut him off sharply. “Come.” He turned to stand behind Loki’s prone form, looking like nothing so much to Thor as a crow over a carcass. Thor followed him, staring gloomily from under his brows. “Begin.”

Thor blinked. 

“What?”

“As I said, I will do nothing. This is your doing Thor, it is you who will see it through.”

Thor looked down at the belt in his hand as though he’d forgotten it was there. Perhaps he had. 

“Quickly, Thor. Before I lose patience.” 

As though in a dream, Thor moved the belt to his right hand, folding it in two, the way he’d seen his father do it so many times before. He stepped forward. He raised his arm. 

He dropped it again, turning back to Odin.

“Father, I am sorry, truly, I—“

“I don’t believe you,” Odin said flatly. “You will find true remorse in you, boy, though I fear it will be hard digging it out.”

Thor turned back. He didn’t know what to do. 

All this time, Loki had been silent and still enough to be a doll dropped haphazardly by a careless child.

“Begin, Thor. Now. Or I will find something worse.” 

Thor had no reason to disbelieve him. 

He breathed in. 

Thwack!

“Ah!” Loki cried out softly, twitching haltingly as the belt made contact. 

Thwack!

This time, he was quieter, keeping the sound to a low unh, the surprise of the first blow giving way to focus and discipline.

Thwack!

Thor could hear labored breathing, muffled as it was into the couch. A few more, and there were desperate gasps building up with the clear intention to become sobs. 

It went on.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! 

There was a high-pitched keening now, like something filled with too much pressure and too little means to release it. Loki looked rigid. 

Relax, Thor wanted to say. It hurts a little less if you can try to relax. But his throat was closed and no words could escape it. 

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

“Stop.” 

Oh, thank God, Thor thought, dropping his arm at his father’s word.

“Pull down his trousers.”

“Father—“ he began, croaking, but his father’s face was one that would broker no argument. 

Nearly trembling, he draped the belt over the back of the sofa, and reached for Loki’s waist. Short gasps wracked through Loki’s frame, but nonetheless his little brother pushed back on his feet and reached, sniffling, to undo the front of his trousers, tilting from the sofa long enough to allow Thor to pull them down without getting caught. 

“Pants too.”

Thor hesitated, fingers ghosting at the white waistband, reluctant to touch the cool skin beneath. Carefully, he coaxed Loki’s underwear around his ankles. 

Loki said not a word, made hardly a sound at all, but when his underwear started to come off, Thor saw his shoulders start to shake. 

He stepped back, eyes on his shoes. 

“That backside look tanned to you, boy?”

Thor looked up. 

Pink. Loki was pink, and getting towards red. 

Not nearly good enough. 

Thor felt his heart sink. 

“You’ve been going easy on him.”

Thor blinked. His eyes were stinging. 

“You’re going to keep at it till he’s black and blue or bleeding, and if I think you’re taking too long at it, you can turn that belt around and hit him with the buckle. You hearing me, boy?”

Thor nodded. The stinging was everywhere now. 

“I said, do you hear me?”

“I hear you.” His voice was barely a murmur. He felt sick. 

His arm came up.

CRACK!

Loki screamed. 

CRACK!

Welts formed on Loki’s skin, red, ugly things, from where the edges cut. 

CRACK!

Loki’s legs were kicking now, his body pitching forward in a completely vain attempt to avoid some part of the blows as they fell. 

CRACK!

His brother screeched, feet scrambling under him, twisting and turning under each vicious snap of leather. Thor wiped a hand over his face, something hot blurring in his vision. 

CRACK!

There was screaming everywhere it seemed, harshly ripping from Loki’s throat to the point that Thor could hardly recognize the voice of the person he’d spent every day with from the time he was twelve months old. 

Loki never begged. He didn’t try to bargain. He just screamed. 

“Enough, Loki,” Thor heard Odin say behind him. “Be still and be silent, or I will take you over my knee myself when he’s done with you.” 

Loki stopped. He was sobbing, but quietly now, and he let his legs fall loosely behind him, strings cut and voice silenced. 

The worst part was, Thor was actually grateful. He’d never hated himself as much as in that moment. 

“Thor.” 

He clenched his fists, right hand cutting painfully into the sweat-drenched leather. 

“Thor, enough, I’ve no wish to hear your bleating any more than your brother’s.”

That’s when he realized: he was crying. That’s what this shaking was, the tightness in his throat, why his face felt hot and damp. Now that Loki was quiet again, he could hear himself, pathetic noises, as though he were choking. 

Thor couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Loki had cried when their mother had passed, but not him. 

He wept now though. He smothered the sound, but the tears wouldn’t stop. 

Loki’s cheeks were turning purple. 

He’d beg if he thought it would do any good. 

“Get on with it, boy, you’re only making it harder on yourself. And him.”

He had a sudden, wild, thought of turning, of lashing out with the belt in his hand and striking his father right across his stony, eye-patched face. 

He wondered if he’d end up surviving that single, gratifying moment. 

He wondered if Loki would. 

Instead, he buried that violence deep inside him, and retched up something else, something cold and lifelessly inhuman. And then, he laid it on his brother. 

CRACK!

He wondered if this was what his father felt like.

CRACK!

Bruises bloomed like violets, and long red stripes, all in rich, fervid hues.

CRACK!

Who knew his brother, so pale and dark, had so many colors in him. 

CRACK!

He wasn’t weeping anymore. He wondered if Loki was, face hidden in folded arms.

CRACK!

Probably. 

CRACK!

Weeping silently.

CRACK!

His brother always wept silently.

CRACK!

The bruising grew darker and larger, deep storm clouds gathering in on themselves.

CRACK!

Now that is more your color brother. You always did love black, do you remember?

CRACK!

Mother took us to choose a pet, and there were all those orange kittens, but you said you wanted a black one. 

CRACK!

That’s back when you used to speak, speak more than just words you knew wanted to be heard, to more people than just me. 

CRACK!

Me, your brother. Your only friend. 

CRACK! CRACK! 

CRACK! CRACK!

There was thunder in his ears, crashing and crashing down on him. 

Loki said nothing. His body shook from each bitter, biting stroke, but hardly more than from the force of the blows themselves. He might well have been a corpse. 

Thor’s arm fell to his side, feeling as limp and lifeless as the strip of dead animal hide that he held in his hand.

“Is that enough.” His voice rang flat and empty.

There was a long silence. 

“Are you sorry?”

The question was like a knife, cutting through all ice and armor and striking right at his bloody, beating heart. He gasped, pressing down on the pain in his chest that felt so real. He knew it would do no good to cry again. 

“Yes, yes I think you are,” Odin said, after a moment. “Loki.” 

There was a time, long enough for Thor to suffer a deep, gutting fear, when Loki didn’t move, and then his head rose, dark hair sticking to his skin like ink. Thor moved to peer down at him, feeling desperately, selfishly grateful to see those green eyes open and blinking. 

“Yes, father?” Loki whispered, hoarse. Thor saw there was a mark on one arm in the shape of teeth. He’d drawn blood. 

“You will stay there through dinner. I want Thor to remember this.”

Thor wondered if he would ever live long enough to forget this day, or if he’d have to wait till he died to be free of it. 

Loki merely nodded, and dropped his head back to his arms. 

“Come Thor, it’s grown late. You’ll have to cook something quickly.” Odin poured himself a drink. Now that this was done, he was free to drink as he pleased. He never punished them drunk. Thor didn’t know whether or not to be grateful for that. 

He walked to the kitchen. He hoped Odin didn’t expect him to eat as well as cook tonight. 

The moment Odin’s attention waned, Thor went calmly to the washroom and vomited, relishing as the acid burned the back of this throat. He rinsed his mouth quickly, and made his way back. It wouldn’t do for Odin to wonder where he’d gone. 

He didn’t once look in the mirror. He was afraid he’d smash it.


End file.
